The SpanishItalian Ignorance Wars
by Pierrot Of Words
Summary: Spain is thick and Romano is a closet love-struck-maiden. Makes for awkward breakfasts.


Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Romano's shaky hand hovered above the Spaniard's sleeping one. 'Touch it touch it touch it' he repeated to himself in his head. With a shiver he shut his eyes and dropped his hand onto the other's, pretending he'd done it in his sleep. A few moments of silence passed, and Romano peeked at Spain; he was still sleeping peacefully.

Lovino swept his pillow up, the flurry of movement shifting Antonio to some form of being awake. Poor Spain had only cracked an eye open when the pillow came down on his head. The Italian was trying to smother him. Being suffocated wasn't his idea of a good morning, of course, so he pulled the pillow aside, away from Romano. The boy held fast to his only weapon, inadvertantly being pulled along with it and ending up collapsed across the elder.

Spain hugged him a morning greeting as if the kid had NOT just tried to murder him in his sleep, and Romano kicked his feet furiously and uselessly. Finally giving into defeat, although he had no flag at hand, he slumped until Antonio was done his hugging. Once free, though, he immediately fell off the bed in retreat.

"Dammit, why did it end up like that!" He whined, the only one knowing this little fiasco had started with him trying to hold hands.

"You hit me with a pillow, silly Lovi."

Silly Lovi scowled menecingly as he could; although, like all his aggressive gestures, it had nothing to back it up. He stood, completely naked as Italians were at wakeing hours, and plopped himself at the edge of the bed to huff. No matter what he did Spain was too thick to notice any of his gestures. If it was someone subtle like France... er, well, if it was France he wouldn't need to make any gestures, France would push him down whether he made any attempt or not. But he hadn't been dealing with France's thick head since the 10th century.

By the time he dressed, Antonio has already gone to the kitchen and poured cereal. Romano joined him moodily as ever, only grabbing an orange from the cupboard. He would usually eat lots and sleep all day ( It was a custom nowdays ) but he just felt too depressed to bother right now. He could have days like these too. But Spain eyed him in this irregularity, knowing immediately something was wrong when the simple, basic routine was broken. ( Basic routine meaning Romano ate plenty, slept plenty, and complained plenty; Spain worked and listened to complaints and smile-smile-smiled. )

"Lovino, are you feeling well?" He asked in a light, unconcerning tone.

The reply was a startling, "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing new." He kept himself vague; it was luck that he even bothered answering.

"But then something is wrong still, what is it?"

"I won't tell you, tomatohead."

Spain sighed and let it go. No exchange he could imagine would result in any real answer, after all. It was a little irksome when these sorts of conversations happened. Actualy, they might have never had a conversation where Romano had been open to him.

"Why can't I ever figure out anything from you, it's like talking to a sack of tomatoes."

Romano started. Was Spain aggrivated at him? He never seemed aggrivated, ever, not in the past 10 centuries. Not towards him, in any case. "I'm sorry...?" He muttered in disbeleif.

"You're stubborn and don't listen to me ever... sometimes I have reason to beleive you go right against me just because, even if I'm trying to do good for you. And then you get angry with me alot and ninty percent of the time I have no idea what I've done." Spain pouted. Romano stared in silence.

"Well maybe if you payed more attention you'd know why I hate you, stupid."

Silence befell them. Lovino bit his lip. He hadn't meant to say 'hate', he didn't hate him at all.  
He remanded himself. "I don't mean I hate you, that's... I'm more... um, you're annoying sometimes."

"Annoying how?"

"You're too thick." Romano said bluntly, growing tired of this morning all together. He was starting to wish he'd gotten a full-course breakfast. "You miss everything important that I do. When I touch you and when I try to get you to understand I like y---"

He turned bright red and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving a half-peeled orange behind with a bewildered Spaniard.

"Like y...yogurt? He wanted yogurt for breakfast? 


End file.
